


Indirect

by azure7539



Series: Azure's 007 Fest 2019 [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 007 Fest, 007 Fest 2019, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-08 12:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19869544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/pseuds/azure7539
Summary: Bond picks a suit for Ronson.





	Indirect

In the spilling daylight of the morning after, Ronson was still as soft as he had been the day before, all lazy smiles and sleep-leaden limbs, and Bond was watching him with a subtle curiosity and a mingling sense of resignation. Mostly because Ronson had always been like this, ever since the day they had first met—Ronson fresh-faced and Bond mentoring as a side job that’d help him work his way up the ranks.

There was something about the general air of mostly contentedness about Ronson whenever the man was off duty that had drawn Bond in and hadn’t really let him go. 

Bond, the hungry and ferocious creature that he was, hadn’t really been able to understand it. The world was not enough was Bond’s motto to live by, whereas Ronson, even though he also knew very clearly about what he wanted and had never been slow on gaining all of them as quickly as possible, was okay with a long-term status quo.

That was one of the reasons that made Bond a double-oh and Ronson a senior field agent, Bond supposed. The fundamental difference that lay in the basis of their core characters.

Bond blinked at the lit cigarette that Ronson was suddenly offering him, the warm breezes of the Turkish wind rustling through the wooden panels of the barely cracked open windows, and took it anyway after a second.

Dragging in a deep breath for the nicotine, Bond thought, in an amused and distant sort of moment, that this was as close as they were going to get to sharing an indirect kiss.

They didn’t kiss much, Ronson and him. 

Which was okay really—they had sex enough to make up for it at any rate.

And Ronson smiled when Bond passed the cigarette back to him.

_(They didn’t kiss much. The brush of supple lips, of breathing in the same air and pressing their bodies against one another, of slipping fingertips into the rough roots of their more-often-than-not short hair, too intimate to describe._

_Too intimate to risk._

_MI6 truly trained their operatives so well, it was remarkable.)_

Ronson sat down in the seat opposite from Bond, basking in the glittering, golden paths of sunlight and stretching his feet outward, the tips just short of touching up Bond’s own.

They spent the remainder of the smoke in companionable silence.

-

“Thanks,” Ronson said, freshly out of the shower with the occasional water droplets still glistening on the planes of his taut skin and muscles. He leant forward and ran a hand down along the clean, pressed suit that Bond had left out for him at the edge of the bed.

The smile on Ronson’s lips was crooked, and Bond shrugged, doing the last loop for his tie and securing it into a perfect knot. “Thought you might need one,” he replied, a rumble in his throat and a returning small smirk that also held little to no sharp edges at its corners.

He hadn’t actually stopped to think about it, picking out a suit for Ronson from the limited selection that the man had tucked away inside his closet, until the full body of the folds of fabric had weighed on his arm a surprisingly significant amount, shocking him into realizing just exactly what it was that he had been doing.

“Dark grey?” Ronson prompted, shooting him a curious look.

Bond arched his eyebrows. “You don’t like it?” he asked, despite highly doubting that this was the case.

“No, not at all.” Ronson’s smile widened. “I rather like it, actually.”

“Good.” Bond hummed in satisfaction and nodded. “I’ve never picked a wrong suit.”

* * *

_The thing about dark grey is that it’s not a bad color to hide blood, first and foremost. Nor is it a bad funeral color._

_It’s just that Bond, an indirect kiss still tingling between his lips in that one single moment, wasn’t thinking of these things when he had been picking out a suit for Ronson on a quiet morning mid July._

_No._

**Author's Note:**

> ( **Angst and fluff prompt tables:** [Free Space] (Loss) + Breezes)


End file.
